


The Lovers That Went Wrong

by Teenageoblivion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teenageoblivion/pseuds/Teenageoblivion
Summary: You have to go undercover as a married couple with Sam Winchester.You've seen enough movies and read enough stories to know how this ends.So why are you falling in love with Dean instead?





	1. I'm Not Entirely Here

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how you feel about this, it validates my writing and also let's me know how I'm doing with this because I honestly don't know.

It's Monday. The bane of your existence and the dampener on your mood.

Monday reminds you of the fact that you have to get through a whole new week. Monday reminds you of how there's a whole new list of monsters waiting to be researched. Monday reminds you that there's more work to do.

Perhaps, Monday also makes you a tad bit melodramatic.

It's not so bad - you are, in fact, saving lives. And the hunting company isn't so bad.

Hunting made you appreciate a life you couldn't have while simultaneously not quite letting you leave what you did have.

Sometimes you find yourself missing the brush of normalcy that comes from the people near the cases. So oblivious, so _carefree_.

And then the monster comes and you're either dead or dying from the scrambles of truth uncovered.

Sammy wouldn't mind though. He wants it anyway. 

Dean would blow his shit over the idea. He isn't much for settling down, not anymore.

You'd like to say you're undecided - torn between not wanting to let everyone suffer and not wanting yourself to suffer anymore.

Dean and Sam, they've learnt to hide it under layers of alcohol and sarcasm and bitch faces.

You still find yourself crying in the shower or lying on the floor wondering how did this become your life.

There's no use pondering over it if you're not willing to change it but that's also easier said than done.

You let a false sense of bravado flush over you, telling yourself _you're okay_ even if you don't quite believe it and head downstairs to meet Sam and Dean.

They're in the kitchen; Dean nursing a bourbon and Sam making a fried egg. You'd think it was just another family until you start noticing the faint frown lines permanently etched on Sam's face and the bruised knuckles that don't quite heal and the unkempt hair and the broken eyes and suddenly there's more pain than love in the room.

You miss what Sam says the first time, asking him for a repeat.

"I found a case," He says.  
"You're not gonna like it," Dean warns you before you even begin to ask what it is.  
"She might," Sam counters, taking a defensive stance.

" _She_ won't be able to say until you tell her what it is," You remind them of your presence.

"Married couples; the husband kills the wife, ripping her throat out and tearing out her heart." Sam provides the information.

"So, a werewolf?" You begin to work through the case, but this one seems obvious.

"Not exactly. The husband uses a knife; all reports have confirmed it. It could be anything then..so we gotta go undercover and I'm not just talking FBI." Dean fills you in.

"Why?" The confusion hits you then.

"Well, the couple is in the vicinity for two weeks before the attack. Three couples so far; each one looking for a new start. We have to be the bait."

"I know you don't like it but better you than some random ass couple who won't know until the son of the bitch hits them, or rather her." Dean provides encouragement, but you're already ready. You're ready to risk your life because it's a distraction from the reminders of what your life is.

"No it's okay, it's not so bad. So me _and?_ " You wait for one of them to declare themselves as your husband, or well, fake husband.

"Me." Sam moves towards you, slipping something into your hand.

It takes you a second to realize it's a ring.

"Hello, my lovely wife." Sam smiles at you, a kind and warm one, meant to reassure you.

You're too busy wondering what it would be like to hear the words from his brother's lips to feel his hand linger on yours.

 


	2. I Think I Talk Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly pretty stumped with how to fill this in properly - I have a plot and conclusion in mind but the progression isn't going well that's why this is so bad.  
> But anyway feedback is always appreciated, and the support so far has been great; thankyou so much!!

The plan begins without a hitch.  
You're Mr. and Mrs. Hansen - the perfect couple; the best fit.  
And the thing is, you really are. Sam and you seem so perfect for each other with chemistry and magic and the love in between.

The realtor lady points out as much.  
The neighbors fawn over it.  
You're not surprised to hear it.

You'd seen him at his worst, broken and battered and in turn, he'd caught glimpses of your pain. You'd let each other in but still not quite, just enough that you're aware that things aren't always sunshines and rainbows and just enough that it momentarily reassures you when you need it the most.

Hell, you'd experienced the end of the world together and if that didn't build the togetherness that you apparently had, then what would?

"Mr. and Mrs. Hansen! I'm so glad I bumped into you," Sheila, your new neighbor said as she saw you guys enter the supermarket.

"Hello, Mrs. Brighton," Sam politely replied, already worming his way into her heart.

You wonder if he even realizes it, the way he makes sure no one ever thinks ill of him on a case unless they're asking for it. The way he tries so hard, exuding a comfort, a protection, a promise that he'll keep you safe. 

You wonder if it hurts him more than it hurts you everytime that promise is broken.

Kevin, Charlie, Adam, Sarah, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Jessica.   
And those were just the ones who'd been close.

You wonder what it's like to be the man whose lovers always, always end up dead - one night or a year, a blossoming attraction or a past love.  
Dead.

"Call me Sheila! _Anyway_ , I wanted to invite you both to a barbecue I'm throwing at my place later. Our newest couple; we wanna know all about you." Sam laughs along with her but you can tell he's worried; you have no stories, you're not even real.

* * *

 

"You can't skip out." Dean reminds you, another in the past hour.

"I know," You reply because you do, it's just harder to lie about this.

"Sam's fairly domesticated, what are you worried about?"

"That we'll get caught." You put it simply, even if that's not the only concern.

"You won't be." He smiles, but then it fades, " _You_ won't have to act so hard anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Because you don't quite understand what Dean's getting at.

"Oh come on, sweetheart. You're gonna pretend with me _too_?" He's interrupted by Sam's arrival.

"Hey! So I stopped by the Darrel or Barell or whatever that guy's name is who lives at the end of the street and he says that the house we bought has been the same one inhabited by all the married victims. I'm thinking poltergeist but then again, the e.m.f reading wasn't picking up anything. It's been a while though, the last deaths were a month ago. Still gotta wait out those two weeks, apparently the couples start acting strange in the last few days; as if the relationship has changed."

"Weird, how?"

"Don't know. I was going to wriggle it out of the guy but his wife started freaking out because she didn't want to talk about death anymore."

"Oh," You sigh, disappointed.

"Anyway, I'm going to make me a sandwich - you guys want anything?" With both you and Dean answering in the affirmative, he heads downstairs in the house that's been a scene of death and now is your temporary home.

"Dean, what did you mean?"

"Just leave it, I'm sorry," He's backtracking out of the room as he speaks, eyes never quite looking at you.

"Dean!" You exclaim, angry at the incompleted words - wondering what he was trying to say.

"Forget it, Princess. Just forget it."

You never really do.


	3. Well, I Was So Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I haven't updated in forever, life gets in the way.  
> Tell me what you think!

You spend a long time in the motel getting ready.  
Not because you had to, but just because you lost yourself in your mind.

You lost yourself in the thoughts of daydreams and stories and alternate endings that couldn't be. It was easy to pretend in the quiet bathroom with only water to keep you company. A new face, a new life. I mean, you did that anyway didn't you?

With your disguises and fake IDs and credit cards with exotic names and bright futures that somehow get snitched away.

It's a constant battle: being stuck in self loathing and self pity and then hating yourself for feeling that way.

Because you don't have it the worst.

Because you have a roof and half a family and you should be greatful.

Because you need to suck it up and let go and _stop crying._

But how can you? How can you when you feel so cold and alone and tired?  
Tired of existing, tired of thoughts, tired of feeling the way you do.

The knock on the door indicates you've taken too long, so you rush to finish up.  
When you get out, they don't ask why you took so long and you don't tell and you're not sure whether you're better off ignoring the things that you are but all of you do it anyway.

"So a story?" Sam says, breaking the silence in the room.

"Oh yeah, a story. What's it going to be? Made for each other lovers? Love at first sight?" Dean scoffs at your words.

"Ha, funny. How about this? Girl meet boy in a town not so far away. Same job, but she's competitive and wants to get it done first and so she does. He's amazed because he likes to think he's best in the business but he's also awed - they head to a bar where she's too cautious to drink but towards the end of the night, her inhibitions are lost anyway. She smiles, he laughs. They sing, she brightens. She talks, and he falls in love. Keep it close to the truth, right?"

"Sounds real, real romantic, Sammy." Dean slaps him on the back but turns away before you get to see his face.

"Yeah, it does." You add in agreement but the words are unsure. You want to ask him if he meant the words but you don't because you're not sure you want to hear it. Sam oozes sincerity always anyway, it didn't mean much, these words.

So you lie to yourself and allow yourself the comfort, allowing him to retell the story to the nosy neighbours and being the good couple you're expected to be; close, touching, loving, enjoying.

Sam smiles, she laughs. They sing, he brightens. He talks and she -?

"Honey! These people were telling me about the previous owners."

"Oh, really?" You move into the conversation, alert.

"Well, it's not a pretty story," The woman says.

"We'd love to know anyway," You urge her on.

"Well, Johannesburg got to be good friends. When his wife and he moved in they were as happy as can be, as you are now. But slowly after a while, things began to change. Johannesburg said his wife was being unfaithful, she accused him of various crimes, even murder. Very dramatic, very upscale. She was high maintenance of course and to be fair, Johannesburg was always a bit too paranoid. Still what could they do? We all assumed it would blow over not that he'd blow her head out!"

"Wasn't it a knife? Stabbing?" Sam questioned.

"No, but that's what everyone's supposed to think. Last two were stabbings too and people bought the house. Bad for the business to know that the walls were coated with chunks of the wife. Oh, um, I shouldn't have - I feel as if I've said too much, I must go!" She laughs nervously, realizing that the couple in front of her were quite capable of moving out and it would be her fault.

"So, rules out cursed object completely." Sam says once she's out of earshot.

"But the murder accusation from the wife, that could be something." You point out.

"Yeah. I'll take the car and go to the police, see what Dean's found. Only if you're okay with walking home, of course."

You nod your consent, getting ready to go.

You almost miss Sam's peck on your cheek.

"For our audience," he whispers.

It takes you a second to see that you both are deserted, away from the crowds, away from an audience.

He's already gone though.  
  



	4. Feel Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, mild/implied

Your walk home is slow; lost in thought.

The breeze of the night hits your body, cooling you but unable to freeze your mind.

Your brain whirs over the possibilities of attackers, of the cause of the deaths, of Dean, of Sam and of home.

In fact, you'd just began a new theory in your head when you were pushed into an alley between two empty houses.

You rushed to scream and take a defensive stance but your attacker had made sure you could do neither. You could feel his rough hands twisting your arm as his legs painfully dug into yours.

His entire weight pinned you to the wall, but you knew how to use your frame to your advantage. 

You were a hunter, goddamn it, you refused to give up.

You waited for him to twist your arm a little further, allowing some distance between your bodies, letting you flip your body to face him. You punch him in the face as he cries out, recoiling from the impact.

He has your purse in his hand and the ring that used to be in your finger now secured on his own. You kick him to make sure he stays in pain and allow yourself time to slip away.

You grab the belongings he'd attempted to steal in a swipe, turning around to run away.

But he'd seemed to find something more valuable than the money and jewels.

His hand latched on to your leg, tripping you.  
You screamed out a 'no!' but there was no one to hear.

His hands rushed to grab you, his fingers digging into your skin as you hissed from the pain.

They say that when something traumatic is about to happen to you or when something traumatic has occurred, you blank it out.

You think about something else, never letting yourself feel the dread, never letting yourself relive the experience.

Your mind struggles to protect itself just as yours flashes to happy trips and laughs and smiles.

Your mind fights to conjure up pictures of better, anything better from the hands groping you.

 _Please, just not this, not this_ , a part of you begs - the scared little girl who can't deal with this, who wants something or someone to make it all better.

But a larger part of you tells you to _wait, he'll need to lower his defenses, he'll give you an out, wait, just wait._

You feel helpless and hopeful all at once because you're strong and a fighter and you'll make it but you're also terrified you won't.

And then you feel it, his arms weakening their hold. It's all you need. You arms smack against his chest, his skin, anything you can come in contact with.

You heave his body of you, but now you know better.

You once again collect your scattered belongings.

_He's unconscious when you leave._

The rest of your walk is brisk and yet the terrain is till deserted. The universe doesn't feel like it's changed, you're still the person you were before.

You can almost pretend as if nothing has happened and you'd made up the whole thing - that scares you more than the reality of events.

But when you enter the house and Dean sees you, the look on his face removes the doubt from your mind, it had happened.

You're relieved but that's not supposed to happen, is it? You should be terrified that it had happened in the first place but you're relieved because you're not crazy?

Dean says nothing but his eyes glaze over as he sees the state of you.

You don't offer an explanation and he doesn't need one.

He helps you get ready for bed, feather touches against the purple bruises littering your skin. He hesitates before every move, looking to you for confirmation. But every time a new bruise is exposed, his jaw clenches.

"He didn't do anything." You assure him.  
Dean wonders how you can be reassuring him right now, why you were trying to comfort him after such an ordeal.

"Didn't he?" He asks out loud, because even if the bruises didn't stay the event should have left a scar on your brain, a ruined memory, tainted thoughts. He wasn't an idiot, he knew you were suffering long before this particular night but he was never good with words and he never wanted to push you to a place where you might never be able to pull you out of.

"I don't feel anything." You let yourself be honest.

"Tell me what I can do," and there's a desperation in his voice because he's not talking about just now. He's talking about every other time, every tear you shed and every night you're awake and everytime you're hurting and he didn't say anything.

"Stay."

And he doesn't question it. He allows you to maneuver yourself to a comfortable position and then he fits himself in.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." You both know he's talking about more than just today.

"I don't know if I wanted you to be." You admit, the secrets spilling out. "He almost had me and I almost let him."

You realize it now, that for one fleeting moment you'd stopped fighting, you froze, you became still.

Because it happened. Because you let yourself believe you were weak.

You're proud of yourself for fighting, you're proud of yourself for not giving up completely.

But you can see that Dean feels guilty.

He did that a lot, Dean. He let himself think that every loss was his fault and every gain, meaningless.

"It wasn't your fault." You state, firmly.

"It wasn't yours either." Dean wants to rip this person to shreds and torture him repeatedly, but you're his priority right now and he knew you'd probably kicked the guy's ass anyway.

"I don't want to hurt anymore." He holds you close as you both slip into better dreams and the promise that tomorrow will be better.

* * *

 

20 miles away, Sam's body lies in the woods.

His bare chest heaves up and down, his heart beat steady, exhausted. The woman leaning on his chest smiles. She dresses slowly. 

Sam's wedding ring sits next to her. She picks it up, kissing it, leaving a smudge of red where her lips touch the cool metal.  
Her bare feet step on the empty alcohol bottle on the ground, rendering it into sharp, glass shards. Her feet bleed, but there is no pain, never is.

She walks deeper into the woods.

Sam's hers now.


	5. Mistakes Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry for being MIA for so long.

Sam wakes up among trees and soft mud. He remembers her face glowing under the moonlight, the taste of her lips and the softness of her skin.

He had let go of his inhibitions and yet he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry.

She was just so _alluring_ , enchanting.

He knew that he should have been worried, should have been alarmed with the way he acted but every part of him ached for her and his want outweighed his fears.

He wished he could just touch her once more.

But she had told him that he had to wait, that she'd call for him again and so he would, keeping what happened a secret just like she had asked.

_"You won't let me down, will you Sammy?"_

He hadn't been able to say no. He knew he should have but as soon as he looked at her, the words stopped in his throat.

He picked up his shirt and put on his shoes, ready to find his way back home.

 _"Good things are about to happen, Sam."_ Her voice lingers in his head.

* * *

 

When he walks into the house, he notices the bundle that consists of you and Dean. An ugly feeling rises up within him: anger? Disgust? Envy?  
He couldn't tell.

Sam shakes it off, pretending not to have noticed at all.

She told him everything would be okay and he believes her. She must have had a plan and he had to have faith.

This was his test.

* * *

 

When you woke up in Dean's arms, you couldn't stop the smile sneaking onto your face.

He was still asleep, the worries that usually caused the creases on his face less prominent than before. You knew you wanted to stay here but you couldn't help but think maybe you shouldn't.

His kindness could have been pity that lasted just one night, after all.

You move away, heading to take a shower, trying to remove the unpleasant bits of last night, the ones you still hadn't quite managed to shake off.

You hear Dean calling your name, probably wondering where you went and you shout back that you're in the shower.

The bathroom used to be a place where your tears mixed with the water, where you allowed your pain to drown. But somehow, today, you didn't have either.

Maybe because you'd let out that pain last night, or maybe it just hadn't hit you yet. You still couldn't shake away the feeling of dread; as if something horrible was about to happen.

The bathroom door barged open, causing a scream to erupt from you and your hands to jump and cover whatever they could.

"Hey, it's just me, I'm sorry." He said, but you felt so exposed, so vulnerable here that those words weren't comforting.

"Sam, please get out." You could feel hot tears falling now, embarrassment over your body, embarrassment because of the situation, embarrassment because instead of being prepared to attack, you'd backed away to a corner.

"Sorry." He laughed, as if it were no big deal, and slowly turned.

"The door was locked, Sam." You were agitated by his easy demeanor and slow pace.

"No it wasn't." He protested.

"Yes, it was. I'm sure of it. And even if it wasn't, you can hear the water running." You could feel it in your bones, that this was no accident.

"Sorry, I've been pretty out of it, had a little too many drinks." The sincerity his voice had lacked a few moments ago returns making you question your instinct. Sam always had that power.

You hear the door's soft click, once again in doubt over if you'd even locked it.

You allow yourself a moment to compose yourself and then quickly dress yourself, no longer wanting to stay.

Outside, Sam smiles. She'd forgotten he was a hunter, someone capable of unlocking most doors.

 _She'd_ told him to last night, to surprise, to shock, to gradually cause havoc - so he did.

He felt the urge to return back to the forest, to the place _she'd_ left him before. He ran the entire way, something telling him that it was the place to be.

He ran the entire way, panting when he reached his destination.

The best part, she was there.  
She was there and beautiful as ever.

"(y/n)?"  
 _"Yes, Sammy?"_


	6. So Darkness I Became

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life came in the way and the boy who inspired the lovey dovey writing in me decided to choose another girl.
> 
> But I love writing too much to stop and I hate leaving fanfictions incomplete so I'm back.
> 
> I hope someone finds something worth reading in here.  
> Let me know what you think!

"Did you do what I asked?" Her melodic voice whispered in his ear, soothing him. The undercurrent of a threat in her voice, however, woke the hunter in him. Yet, as always, the lust in his brain overpowered any other feelings. 

He nodded rapidly, eager to please the woman before him. Her red lips smirked in satisfaction, her red nails trailing his arm; her touch leaving him gasping for more.

"Good, Sammy. Now, I need you to make _her_ love you so that we can break her together." Her simple command penetrated through the haze in his brain.

"She's already broken." He'd noticed; he still does. The way she tried to hold herself together and stop the pain from seeping into her bones. Sam had always been a sensitive person; perceptive and alert when others could not see. But her bad acting hadn't even fooled Dean. They remained quiet but that didn't mean they hadn't seen.

"Your brother is fixing her." The celestial being in front of him scowled at the thought, her nails now daggering into his skin in anger. "Sammy, if you don't do this, you can never have me again."

Despair flooded through him. The absence of her was too much to bear. He longed to touch her, to feel her, to ravage her. The need grew within him as the seconds passed. He could feel his desire, his want, his  _desperation._

_It gnawed at him._

"I'll do it, please don't go. I want you." He felt five years old again when his father refused to buy him the toys he wanted.

He felt fifteen years old again when the girls he wanted only had eyes for Dean.

"Then you have to earn me." The ethereal creature whispered in his ear before drawing away, leaving behind only her sweet scent and the longing in Sam's heart.

She knew he'd do it, he'd be her willing victim just as the others had been. And when everything was said and done, she'd find another; another lust addled boy, another hormonal man, another love drugged human.

Sam stood alone among the trees, lost in the stillness. Her words swirled in his brain  _earn me earn me earn me._

There was only one way to do it and he would. 

He vowed to leave you broken.

(Maybe he should have realized he'd be breaking more than just one heart, more than just you, more than just your skin. But he didn't know then what he knows now.)

 


End file.
